Kastori Revelations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 1) (3 page)

“Whatever your excuse is, it’s not good enough. Our sole mission, while we are still on this ship, is to learn every survival technique we can. Everything else is secondary. That includes recreational learning, reminiscing, conversation, and thinking.”

She took a second to pause, wanting to process her own advice.

“Now, equip yourselves. I will help you if you need anything. Otherwise, I will equip myself once you are in.”

The two trudged to the lockers, Celeste faster than Cyrus. Neither spoke a word as they equipped their suits and helmet. Watching them, Crystil could sense the frustration in Cyrus and the fear in Celeste.

The former she knew would give her headaches. Cyrus had so much potential. He was a strong human specimen, with chiseled shoulders and cut legs, at about six foot three inches tall, taller than Crystil, who was six foot… and, though she’d never admit it, Cyrus had a handsome, slender face, stunningly deep blue eyes, a thin beard which he always kept well-groomed, and a military haircut up top. But he also had the rebellious streak that would’ve gotten him killed in combat. If he didn’t curtail himself, Crystil knew he was as much a danger to them as to enemies. She constantly cut him down, treating him even more coldly than usual so he could hone his skills in a less bombastic method.

The latter listened well, did everything asked of her, and played the part of peacemaker well. But Celeste had to learn to control her fear. Celeste would never get rid of her fear—Crystil had her own paralyzing fears—but until she learned to handle it, and use it to push her forward, she could be nothing more than a diplomat. Crystil had sympathy for the younger sibling, but sympathy didn’t fire a gun faster.

Between the two Orthrans, Crystil didn’t have much hope.

Once Cortanus confirmed both Cyrus and Celeste had hooked up to the virtual world, Crystil headed to her equipment and put on the full-body suit with sensors that rubbed on her skin and a helmet that made her claustrophobic. However, once she clicked the helmet shut against her suit, after closing her eyes, she found herself in a thick blizzard and the tight space gone. A giant mountain rose behind her. To her right stood Cyrus and Celeste, thick in wintry clothing, so densely covered she could only tell them apart by their height. The two of them walked over to her. They looked at the snow, roughly two feet deep, and the gray sky.
If Anatolus is worse than this…

“Welcome to the ‘Winter Hunting’ simulation,” Cortanus said. “Before we begin, let’s review the fundamental facts. One, do your best to remove any sign of your presence. Dust your footprints as you go along. Do not drop anything which may have your stench on it. Do not remove anything from the environment, such as a stick or piece of food that would be out of place on the ground. Stay low. Avoid making excessive movements or sounds. Hunt stationary targets, not ones on the move. Communicate on how you will hunt. Hunting in a group is a collaborative, synergistic single act, not three separate acts. Should you come across a pack of animals, hunt one animal at a time. Take only what you need. This means pursue the minimum-sized target you need, to decrease its chances of escape. Hunting game larger than you need wastes ammo and animals which will rot in your presence. Do you have any questions?”

Crystil already knew everything Cortanus said and waited to see what Cyrus and Celeste did. Neither of them said anything, though Crystil wondered if they actually understood or just didn’t want to ask their questions. This was their first simulation with guns, and Crystil had deep suspicions about their skill level.
At least if they shoot me, we all wake up in the VR room.

“Good luck.”

The three ambled, dusting their prints behind them, moving at a glacial pace. The terrain around them did not change for several minutes.

“I’m bored,” Cyrus said. “Hunting sucks.”

Crystil turned with angry eyes and put a hand on her lips. Though Cyrus said nothing more, his angst bothered Crystil, who knew it made him more likely to do something stupid.

Finally, barely visible in the fog, a group of gigantes congregated. With thick tusks, copious amounts of fur and plenty of satisfying fatty meat to humans, they made for the perfect prey. One gigante could feed the three of them for at least two days. Crystil motioned to the other two to crouch. She eyed through her scope the slowest creature. The gigantes moved as a herd, and though they never paused, the slowest one could still be taken down in desperate times.

She found, in the back, a younger gigante. She reached for her gun, lined the creature up, and—

A gunshot rang out.

Suddenly, the roar of angry, confused, and panicking gigantes filled the air, and a stampede broke out. The herd ran away from the three humans, preventing the food from coming their way. Celeste had not even pulled her gun out. Crystil could barely control her rage at Cyrus as she slammed her gun to the ground.

“Cortanus,” she yelled. She dropped her voice to a deliberate, incredibly angry tone. “End. The. Simulation.”

The sky went black, and the helmet unlocked from her suit. She popped it off and tossed it to the side. When she saw Cyrus, struggling to remove his suit, she walked over and punched him in the gut. She threw his helmet off, and he staggered to the ground, groaning.

“Do you understand what just happened, Cyrus? Do you not realize that if that was a real situation, we would go without food and have to find that herd all over again?”

He moaned, holding his side with his eyes shut and his teeth gritted.

“What’s your excuse, Cyrus? I want an answer this time. I don’t want silence.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw Celeste watching with her hand over her mouth. But even Celeste knew not to interfere.

“Cyrus!”

“I was… going for the largest one… thought we’d get more that way.”

Crystil’s fists clenched, but she withheld from hitting him again.

“Stand up, Cyrus,” she ordered.

He did, slowly. He grimaced even when fully standing.

“What did Cortanus say, Cyrus? What did it say about going for the minimal amount that we needed?”

“I know what it said, but—”

“So you know better than hundreds of programmers who designed this ship and the intelligence on it, programmers advised by hunters, soldiers, and every other class of human on Monda who had experience on this?”

He bit his lip and looked at her. She saw eyes that wanted desperately to be right.

“Let me make one thing clear, Cyrus. If you want to break the rules, you have to follow them first. You have to follow them until they become second nature to you. Once you’ve done that, in very inconsequential situations, you can find places to bend them. But you are so far away from that, you won’t get there in your lifetime.”

She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close.

“You listen to my orders. I am the commander of this ship. It is my job to get the two of you safely to Anatolus and to help you rebuild from there. If you take on this flippant attitude, Cyrus, you don’t just hurt yourself. You hurt us. You hurt me. You put your sister in danger.”

When his eyes flickered with fear, she knew she’d found it. The go-to point whenever he didn’t listen. The trigger that made him trepidatious.

She released him and stepped back. She turned to Celeste.

“I apologize that we were not able to finish the simulation. You did a good job of keeping your tracks clear, and of not creating too many abnormalities in the environment. We will review the simulation further later today.”

She nodded to Celeste and gave an authoritative stare to Cyrus, who coughed once. She left without another word, heading straight for the cockpit.

She felt she’d gone overboard with Cyrus. Hitting him crossed the already-thin line of trust. But between the emotions of what happened from what seemed like a few days ago, his arrogance, and the fear their future would end poorly, she’d lost control. She struggled to find the balance between taking responsibility and blaming him for failing to follow basic instructions.

Is he insane? He does realize what he’s doing, right? Is he that stubborn? Or stupid? Or am I missing something?

Maybe… maybe he’s got a point.

If he does, the notes from Cortanus will turn it up. In the meantime, there’s no chance I’m ever letting him go outside the rules of the simulation. No chance. No exceptions.

When she arrived in the cockpit, she angrily propped her legs up and leaned back, letting out a long sigh.

“Cortanus, tell me something good. Please. Anything to get my mind off the disaster we just had.”

“Actually, I do have wonderful news.”

She took her feet off the dashboard. As she looked out, she could see the star which Anatolus supposedly orbited. Cortanus produced a holographic image, displaying the star up close.

And a planet.

“I can confirm the existence of Anatolus, and that it is habitable for humans.”

4

Celeste pursed her lips together and breathed slowly as she watched her wounded brother. Still leaning over, looking like Crystil had stabbed him with a knife, Cyrus grimaced as he tried to face his sister.

“Ow,” he said as he kept his hand on his left side. “OK, rule number one of
Omega One.
Don’t get in a fight with the commander. She’ll kill you with a single punch.”

Celeste did not react, fearful that Crystil might return and harangue them with further—even if she walked out distraught.

Cyrus coughed more.

“Come on, let’s go eat. Or at least I’ll watch and talk to you while you eat and I wish I had gotten my helmet off before getting a brick to my side.”

Celeste nodded and whirled around, leading a slow-walking Cyrus to the spacious, green-painted mess hall. She took out two packages of food, threw them in the microwave for two minutes, and took them to the one table left in the hall, situated just by the entrance. Crystil had propped up the rest on the opposite wall to give them space. She put one of the meals in front of Cyrus, who sat in silence. She wouldn’t dare say it, but maybe a sucker punch wasn’t the worst thing if it briefly muted her brother.

She poked at her eggs, eating about half of the food while Cyrus kept groaning and swearing as he ate. She hadn’t had much of an appetite since leaving Monda.

When Cyrus groaned exaggeratedly, Celeste had to speak up.

“Must’ve really hurt, huh?”

Cyrus’ eyes went wide with acknowledgment as he finished a bite.

“The reason I didn’t answer her the first time was because I was in so much pain I had to fight off the oncoming shock. I’m serious, sis, that girl can hit. Forget like a man—there’s a reason Pops wanted her as his bodyguard, and it’s not because she’s beautiful.”

Celeste’s eyes slanted in curiosity, but she said nothing and Cyrus went silent. Her thoughts turned from the amused to the concerned. Cyrus only went silent when he’d gotten beyond angry at someone.
I should’ve said three hours instead of three days.

“Cyrus,” she said, trying to get him out of his funk, but he said nothing, instead finishing the last of his eggs, not even looking at her. “Do I need to be here?”

He snorted, but Celeste knew him well to know it was not disrespectful. Celeste got up, threw her trash out, and walked over to her brother, standing over him.

“Before you see Crystil again, come hang out with me. I don’t need you two interacting with this much heat. OK?”

Cyrus nodded without looking up. She moseyed to her quarters, only the sounds of her boots making noise.

Inside her room, she sat on the edge of the bed, removing her boots slowly. Her room, so white it may as well have been an avalanche of snow, contained little besides an actual bed. On the wall lay the control panel for her display tablet, on which she could read about anything humanity had left behind.

Almost all of it meant nothing to Celeste. She didn’t want to read about folklore, or the different sects on Monda, or biological theories on why certain fur-coated animals survived blazing summer heat.

Instead, she opened a file with most of her childhood memories, mostly in the form of photos, some in the form of videos. It was a time when an apocalypse on Monda seemed like a bully’s terrifying story, not a reality, and when her father cared for them as children, not as a distant figure leading an entire empire. Celeste started from the beginning, when life just felt like a series of games with her brother.

In the first image, she, Cyrus, and her father hiked the Reygar Mountains, reaching elevations of a few thousand feet. At the time, it felt like the toughest hike ever, but she could remember their father playfully teasing them that they would have tougher mountains to climb someday.

“Better times,” she said with a short sigh. “I wish I was still on that mountaintop.”

She scanned it for a few more seconds and flipped over to another photo—the day her father became emperor when she was ten years old. They all wore their finest robes, she in red and white, Cyrus in black and red, and their father in gold and red—a sight amusing in retrospect. In the empire, many hailed the day with cautious optimism. Dad had a reputation for outreach and some believed in his ability to find peace.